“Young Ironsmelter.” Kilraker’s tone was stern. His eyes dropped to Tyen’s hands. “Is this the book you found in Mailand?” He extended his hand towards it.
Tyen’s heart froze, then began to race. He looked down at Vella. What should he do? Lie? No, there’s no point. Nothing will dissuade the professors from looking at her, and as soon as they do they’ll know what she is. Tyen took a deep breath. Sorry Vella. You’re about to have a new owner. Thanks for all you have taught me, and I hope I’ve taught you enough in return.
Stepping forward, Kilraker plucked Vella from Tyen’s hand. “Is it?” he repeated.
“Yes,” Tyen admitted. “Did Miko tell you about it?”
The professor examined the cover, his eyebrows lowered. “He did. He was worried that you had been trapped by it somehow. Why didn’t you tell me about it?”
Tyen shrugged. “As you can see, it’s not a very impressive object. I didn’t think I could convince anyone it was valuable.”
“A magic book?” Professor Delly did not sound convinced. “Of course it’s valuable! Why would—?”
“That depends,” Kilraker interrupted. “What does it do?” He looked up at Tyen, his fingers moving on the cover as if he itched to open it, but wasn’t sure if was safe to do so.
Tyen spread his hands. “It takes in knowledge from its owner and stores it, and answers questions according to the information it has accumulated from previous owners.”
Delly peered down at the book eagerly. “A knowledge store!”
“But that information is centuries out of date,” Tyen added. “Its accuracy is only as reliable as its former owners’.” He shrugged. “I’ve been checking what I learn against Academy records, naturally.”
“If it is such an unreliable source, why have you continued to read it?” Kilraker asked.
“It is interesting for other reasons.” Tyen paused, trying to think of a way to explain. “It – she – was once a person. Talking to her is like travelling back through time and meeting someone from the past.” He shook his head. “I always meant to give her to the Academy. I just wanted to understand who and what she is.”
As Tyen had spoken, Kilraker’s eyebrows had slowly risen. Now he rubbed his moustache with a thumb and gave Delly a thoughtful look. “I think we had best leave this book closed until an examination can be arranged,” he said, placing a hand over the cover. Kilraker turned back to Tyen. “Your attendance will be required.”
Tyen nodded. “Of course.”
Professor Delly made a small noise of protest. Kilraker turned to face him. “We will need to question him about his use of the book before anyone else risks reading it.”
Delly’s lips curled downward at the edges in defeat. “Yes, I suppose we will. I will make the arrangements.” He nodded at Tyen. “I will inform you of the meeting time and place.”
“Thank you, Professor Delly,” Tyen replied.
Kilraker stepped back out of the doorway, pushing the door closed behind them. Tyen stared at the back of it, then down at his hands. As his heart slowed from the panic of discovery he was left with a feeling of loss. Of a possession, he told himself. Just a book. That I was going to give to the Academy anyway.
But Vella was more than just a book. She was a person. A woman who had never asked to be made into a tool, treated like a useful object and nothing more. She might not be a whole, normal woman but he had enjoyed her conversations and her company. This is more like losing a friend, he realised. Like if Miko suddenly …
Miko. Tyen scowled. Where was the turncoat? How long before he came slinking back to the room, all “I-was-concerned-for-you-this-is-for-the-best”? Or would he be full of self-righteousness and tell Tyen to get over it. Miko wasn’t one for apologies.
But he must have truly believed Vella was a danger to risk Tyen revealing his theft of the gold poible.
Either that, or he was jealous. He did say she gave me an unfair advantage. Tyen found himself facing the window, fists clenched. He’d been pacing, and oblivious to it. Staring outside, he realised he could see details now. The fog was lifting. I don’t want to be here when Miko returns. I might strangle him.
He turned on his heel, strode to his cupboard and grabbed his coat, scarf and cap.
“Beetle,” he said. “Pocket.”
A soft whirring filled the room as the insectoid obeyed, landing on Tyen’s shoulder. He didn’t wait until it had scuttled inside his coat before opening the door and striding outside.
He paused briefly at the Academy gates. He’d only intended to walk that far, but it wasn’t enough. As he hunched into his coat’s warmth and set out into the city, he reminded himself that he knew enough sorcery to fend off most attackers. He almost wished someone would try so he had a legal excuse to use magic. Beetle ran on magic of course, but barely a trickle, and so long as it stayed hidden it would take a particularly alert sorcerer to notice any was being used.
After several hundred paces or so Tyen began to feel a little better. Perhaps all I needed was to get out of the Academy. Sometimes it’s too easy to get caught up in its little dramas. Except that Vella wasn’t a little drama, to him.
They’ll realise she’s more than a book once they talk to her, he told himself. Once they knew she was a person, what would they do? It was wrong for a person to be owned. That was slavery. He stopped as he realised what that meant. Then it’s wrong, perhaps even illegal, for the Academy to own Vella!
He doubted they’d see it that way, or that such an argument would hold up in a court of law. She did not believe herself to be a whole person. Even if the law agreed that she was enough of a person that owning her was slavery, that would mean Tyen couldn’t own her either. Nobody could. She would be stored away somewhere, unconscious and forgotten.
Tyen sighed and began walking again. Perhaps it’s better that the Academy has her. She’ll get to meet many people. Smarter, more knowledgeable people than me. She’ll be safe. After all, if that whore had managed to drug and rob me, Vella could have ended up sold to someone who didn’t value her, or even dumped in the rubbish or thrown on a fire.
In the pale gloom, Tyen heard a laugh and looked up to see he was passing one of the many “delooms” – short for “deliberation rooms” in the area around the Academy. The little shops catered for intellectuals seeking social discourse outside of the stuffy Academy atmosphere, and were probably to blame for cultivating a taste for stimulating drinks and smoking among students and professors alike.
At the thought of a hot drink, Tyen was suddenly more conscious of the cold, damp air. He didn’t much like the smoke in these places, but it would hardly be much worse on his lungs than the fog. Probably there would be nobody in the deloom that he knew, but he didn’t mind sitting alone for the time it took to enjoy a drink. By then he might be ready to head back to the Academy.
Pushing through the door, he was amused to see the inside was only a little less shrouded with smoke as the street was with fog. Most appeared to be coming from a large group of men sitting at the back of the shop, taking up the attention of two servers. He looked around, hoping to see an isolated chair in a less smoky corner. A man was sitting in an alcove nearby, and Tyen realised he knew him. At the same moment the man looked up and blinked in surprised recognition.
“Gowel,” Tyen said, touching the brim of his hat in greeting. Is this man really a radical? he wondered, remembering Miko’s story of the adventurer and Kilraker arguing.
The adventurer gazed at Tyen steadily. “One of Kilraker’s boys, right?”
“Yes. Tyen Ironsmelter. We met in Palga a few weeks back, at the Anchor Inn.”
Gowel was nodding before Tyen finished. “The student who turned in early. Vals praised your aircart driving, said you might be his best student. What brings you out on such a sorry day?”
Tyen shrugged and decided that would have to do for an answer.
The adventurer chuckled. “You have the look of someone who needs a bit of fresh air.”
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“Yes. Well. Picked a bad day for it.”
Gowel laughed. “You certainly did. Ah, I know that feeling well. I had it plenty of times before I left the Academy.” One of the servers appeared at Tyen’s side. “Why don’t you join me?” Gowel invited, gesturing to one of the three empty chairs at his table.
“Thank you.” Tyen chose a seat that allowed him to look out of the shop window, then decided to treat himself to a pot of lall – a drink made from the ground, bitter seeds of a tree that grew on the other side of the world. It arrived quickly and steaming hot, with a dish of solidified syrup beside it. It took several lumps of the sweetener before the drink’s bitterness was softened enough for Tyen’s taste buds.
All the while, Gowel gazed out at the fog in silence. The lines on the adventurer’s tanned face seemed deeper, and this time he looked more sad than travel-wizened. Tyen realised that the man was looking in the direction of the Academy.
“Do you miss it?” he asked.
Gowel looked away from the window and smiled faintly. “Sometimes.”
“Will you be dropping in to see Professor Kilraker?”
The man’s mouth tightened and he looked away. “No. These days he and I have different eyes.”
It was an old saying often favoured by northerners. From what Tyen recalled, it came from a tale in which two strangers, gazing at a landscape, noticed entirely different features and concluded that their eyes must be at fault.
Was this different viewpoint a radical one, as Miko suspected? Should I be talking to him? What if Kilraker finds out? He couldn’t leave now without being rude to a man who, if not a radical, could be a useful peer in the future. If he stayed he might find out how radical Gowel’s views were, and know to avoid him in future.
Tyen put down his cup. “Aren’t different viewpoints meant to be good for the Academy? Different ideas lead to investigation which leads to truth?”
Gowel smiled. “Yes. But this current lot … they’re too frightened of a few possible truths to investigate the evidence that is right in front of them.”
“What could be so frightening?”
The adventurer’s eyebrows rose. “If I tell you, you’ll mark me for a radical.”
Tyen looked away. Such a direct admission left him unable to think of what to say next. Some excuse to leave, at least …
Gowel sighed. “By your expression I am well marked already. Tell me, young Ironsmelter, where do you think magic comes from?”
Tyen looked up. “The atmosphere.”
“How did it get there?”
“From the sun, or generated by lightning.”
“Theories that have never been proven.” Gowel leaned forward. “On your visit to Mailand you must have noticed that there is more magic in the atmosphere the further away you are from cities – particularly Belton. Or perhaps it is better to put it this way: the closer to the cities you are, the less magic there is. Whatever the source of magic is, cities are using it too fast for it to replenish itself. Do you agree with that?”
Tyen shrugged. “I suppose.”
“So what should we do about it?”
“Use less?”
Gowel nodded. “And make more.”
As Tyen tried to hide his dismay, the adventurer chuckled again.
“Ah, I see your fear. I am not saying what you think I’m saying. The idea that creativity generates magic is too foolish to be true. Then your grandmother darning your socks could be creating it. However, just because an idea is old doesn’t mean it doesn’t contain a grain of truth. Magic was once more abundant in our cities than outside of them. History tells us that. It is still more abundant in cities where there are no machines. So the first question you should ask is: why is there more magic in these cities?”
Tyen shook his head to indicate he had no answer.
“Because there are more people.” Gowel thumped his fist softly on the table at the last word, startling Tyen enough that he met the adventurer’s gaze, despite his efforts to the contrary.
“It is easy to see how the impression could come about that magic is generated by making things,” Gowel continued. “People are always making things, so why not claim they make magic, too? It’s good for business. It attracts commissions from the wealthy and powerful.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Most likely magic is a more earthly emission. A by-product of human existence, like sweat or excrement or body heat.”
“But Belton contains more than a million people,” Tyen pointed out. “Surely that would generate a lot of … by-product.”
Gowel nodded. “What makes Belton so different? Machines! All gobbling up magic faster than even this great city can replace it.”
Tyen tore his gaze away from the adventurer’s intense stare. Comparing magic to sweat or excrement did not lend his explanation much appeal, yet the idea that magic was a by-product – an emanation – from the presence of humanity had a pleasing simplicity. And there has to be a reason why people believed that creators made magic, I suppose, even if they were wrong.
“So … we need to get rid of the machines?” he prompted.
Gowel let out a short laugh. “Of course not. But we should be judicious in their use. Stop wasting magic on indulgences. Make the machines more efficient.”
Tyen nodded. Gowel’s theory made sense. It was based on evidence and logic. The radicals weren’t as foolish as he’d been led to believe. At least, this one wasn’t.
“Can you prove this?” he asked.
Gowel sighed. “Not easily. Only by taking others far outside the draining caused by the great cities, to the lands I have visited where the cities are rich in magic, could I convince them of what I’ve found.”
“So why don’t you? Do they refuse to go?”
“Either that, or they point out that when they return they will be accused of being radicals, too.”
“You have to find another way to prove it, then. Or convince enough people to make opinion sway in your direction.”
Gowel looked at Tyen appraisingly. Tyen felt his face warming as he realised he was agreeing with a radical viewpoint. Of course, Gowel could be lying. I’m not sure why he would, though. I wish I had Vella with me. I could get him to touch her, then ask her if he was telling the truth … oh!
He sat up straight. Once the Academy understood how Vella worked, they could use her to confirm the truth of Gowel’s words. If Gowel would consent to hold her, that was. That, he suspected, would be the easy part. If the Academy was as frightened of the truth as Gowel claimed, what chance had Tyen to persuade them to try? He sighed as his excitement faded.
“See?” Gowel said, grimacing. “I told you I’d frighten you with my radical ideas.”
Tyen shook his head. “You didn’t. I already knew we were running out of magic. I thought I had a way to prove what you’re saying, but I’m not sure it would work.”
“It’s always worth trying,” Gowel said.
Tyen considered the man. Perhaps he was right. “You’d have to agree to have your mind read … by a book.”
As the lines on the adventurer’s face converged in an expression of bewilderment, Tyen smiled. Then he began to explain.
CHAPTER 8
To Tyen’s relief, Professor Kilraker sent for him that evening, after dinner. Tyen was eager to explain his idea, and had hoped he wouldn’t have to wait days, even weeks, to get the chance. His relief evaporated, however, when the servant sent to fetch him led him to the Academy Director’s office.
Sudden anxiety closed Tyen’s throat and he croaked out a thank you as the man held open the door for him. Though the room was large the scrutiny of the five men watching him enter, the warmth from a roaring fire and the smoke from their pipes made it feel close and airless. Kilraker gave him a nod and smile of reassurance as he approached. Another history professor, Cutter, stood beside him, along with Delly and a professor of sorcery, Hapen, who taught final-year students. Those two regarded Tyen with disapproving frowns.
“
Tyen Ironsmelter,” Director Ophen boomed from behind his desk. “Come here.” His hand did not stop beckoning until Tyen stood a few inches from the desk’s edge, then it dropped and picked up a small, familiar object. “Is this the book you found in the tomb in Mailand?”
“I believe so.” Tyen reached out to take the book, but the Director lowered it to the desk again, his fingertips resting on the cover.
“Tell us how you came by it.”
“It was in the tomb I found. In the sarcophagus, in the corpse’s hands and wrapped in a covering.”
“The tomb you went to great lengths to ascertain the location of, I hear. Did you go to such effort because you were looking for anything in particular?”
“No. I had no clue that the tomb would be any different from the others. I only wished to save myself some digging.”
The Director smiled. “Applying scholarly thought to make a task more efficient is a commendable approach. When did you discover the book’s magical nature?”
“After I removed the covering. I was surprised to find the pages unmarked, but then words appeared.”
“What did they say?”
“From what I recall … ‘Hello, my name is Vella’.”
“In what language were these words?”
“Leratian.”
One of Ophen’s eyebrows rose and his mouth twisted to one side. “How is that possible, if this book has been entombed for six hundred years? Even if the words were Leratian, they would be an early, almost indecipherable form. Can you read early Leratian?”
“No. But Vella – the book – is able to adopt the language known by the man who holds her.”
The Director frowned. “How does she – it – do that?”
“She links to their mind. That is how she collects information.”
Ophen quickly withdrew his hand from Vella. He stared at her, then looked up at Kilraker.
“You didn’t tell me that.”
“I did not know. I did warn you against—”
“Yes, yes. I haven’t opened it,” the Director said, scowling.
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